Summer Shots
by LovelyToMeetYou
Summary: Oneshot drabbles for the Hetalia 30 Days Challenge. Every genre, character and pairings from the series will be portrayed in these shots. It's also a chance for me to broaden my horizons and experience the series in different ways. slowly updating
1. Canada Day

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Canada Day

**Prompt 1:** Neighboring Characters, friendship.

**Characters:** Canada and America. (In this case it also doubles as Canada Day - which is today: July 1st).

**A/N:** I probably shouldn't be starting another multi chaptered story, but this one will count as practice. There is a limit for repeated characters so you'll have to use others as well. I might not be able to update it daily, but I'll surely complete this! The challenge is happening in dA, link (take off the spaces and you're there): hetalianationsunite . deviantart . com

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Canada huffed slightly as he put down the heavy boxes in the ground; this was already the tenth box today. But instead of complaining, the young man only smiled as a voice called him by his human name to go bring yet another set of boxes. Usually Canada, or Matthew as humans called him, wouldn't be helping around in an event – rather, he would _try_ to help but only some people would acknowledge him. But today it was different. The young man with violet eyes exhibited a completely renewed energy, which made him almost glow. Today was special.

Today, the First of July was Canada Day.

This was his favorite time of the year by far: his people would gather and celebrate his birthday, spreading happiness everywhere they went – even if they weren't in their homeland. Big groups would gather everywhere in the world and celebrate this special day and Canada didn't even need to see the videos or announcements to know so; he just felt it, felt the love of his people with every fiber of his body. And that alone brought him joy and happiness.

Today would be perfect - he just knew it. His people were always extra happy and the preparations had gone smoothly so far. He'd been helping out because he felt like it was his duty to help more, being with his workers rather than just sitting through boring meetings or smiling without reason. It was amidst his people that Canada felt mostly like himself. And while he always loved this day and appreciated his people, there was always a bitter feeling for him as well. Not all nations would celebrate this day or even remember it, which was the worst of all. He tried not to think much of it, maybe they were just busy… but it always hurt to think about it.

France would always remember and send him a present or even come visit himself – and he would always make sure to give Quebec his own special present while the wannabe nation would be sulking, calling it simply 'moving day' – while England would try to visit, though he would always be drunk and complaining about America's following birthday. But the young nation felt like he couldn't really blame them. France and England had been his caretakers, but they weren't exactly his parents. They were countries that had obligations and in the last centuries Canada had become his own nation and was more independent than ever.

It was already his 145th birthday after all. He didn't _need_ his caretakers to come, but he _wanted_ them to. They were the closest thing Canada had to a family between the nations and having them here celebrating this day with him would make it so much better.

Sighing, the violet-eyed nation put down the last box in the set. His job was completed and he had to go check all the places before the place became crowded. Canada stood up and eyed his surroundings. The set was already completed and the technical problems had all been resolved quickly. The bay where the fireworks would be set later in the day could be seen far away and the blue sky was completely clean. Today would indeed be a good day. He just wished some nation would come and celebrate it with him. The birthday of a nation was an event only nations could truly experience after all.

Soon enough the musical festivals were ready to go and the stadium was filled with people wearing red and white clothes. Some even came wearing the national red uniforms, to which Canada could only salute with teary eyes. Almost every person in the crowd had the maple flag imprinted in their cheeks, just as Canada himself had in both his cheeks. In fact, he was the sole person wearing practically all national icons in his outfits (he was even holding a beaver doll!). Well, if someone had reason to be overly patriotic today, it was certainly he. The national anthem was sung through the whole stadium and everyone followed through the song. After the orchestra went away, promising to come back just before the fireworks were set, many bands followed after. During that time Canada stood up singing along to the songs in the middle of the crowd.

And it was during one of Simple Plan's song that he was rudely interrupted by a shove. Stumbling a little, even in the midst of a big crowd, Canada could only frown. Who could possibly be so rude and clumsy? No Canadian, of that he was sure. He turned around to yell at the person – even though he knew he would probably just be ignored since it was so loud and, let's face it, he easily disappeared – but Canada halted as soon as he saw who it was.

Smiling at him, there was his stupid brother. America was here in this stadium. _America_ was in _Canada_ during Canada Day, just three days away from his own birthday. The violet-eyed nation could only stare in awe at that similar looking blue-eyed nation as the guitar solo came to play. They tried talking, but it ended up being more of a yelling contest because of the noise around them. As soon as the song was over Canada was finally able to speak.

"America? What are you doing here?" Canada asked, utterly confused.

Still smiling, America answered, "I'm here to celebrate my bro's birthday, duh! Come on Mattie, you're smarter than this."

Frowning at the nickname his brother was so found of using, he still felt like he was in a dream. Why would America be here anyway? It's not like he ever came to things that weren't related to his own country.

America noticed his brother's suspicious look and sighed in response. That's what you get for trying to break a bad habit. "Look Mattie, I know it's weird for me to come here now after all these years. The thing is, I always used to forget about your birthday! I mean, is it really my fault you have yours just three days before mine?"

"It's not a question of fairness, America."

"I know, I know. And I'm really sorry for forgetting about it for all these years." He answered sincerely. His brother still didn't say anything so America continued. "And I promise to be a better brother and to always remember your birthday. After all, you always remember mine so it's only fair!" One blue eye winked to give emphasis to the words.

Canada could only stand there, bewildered. This was certainly a first, for self-centered America to remember someone else's birthday besides his own. Which could only mean one thing…

"Who reminded you?"

"Huh?"

"You couldn't possibly remember my birthday on your own after so long." Before America could interrupt him, Canada continued. "It can only be France or England. So, who was it?" Canada asked seriously.

Honestly, he couldn't care less how America remembered his birthday. He was just glad his neighboring nation was actually here to celebrate his birthday with him. But it also felt nice to give him a hard time, just this once.

America gave him an easy smile.

"You're good, Mattie. Actually, both reminded me. France kept sending me annoying messages all the time and even threatened to assault you if I didn't come, which was pretty disturbing-" Canada kept his laugh to himself. France would probably do that, but it wouldn't be much of a problem since they were dating now – which was still a secret. America continued rambling, "-and England actually _kidnapped_ me from my party planning to come here. Though I guess I should thank him later… you know, for caring."

"You should." Canada replied easily, ignoring his brother's blushing face. He pushed aside his urge to amiably mock America for his obvious feelings for their ex-caretaker, but he figured he had already looked angry enough. Today was his day after all, and Canada would enjoy it. "So, would you like a personal tour in the stadium and at the bay? Only personal staff can know some places and, well, I'm the _country_ so I also know it."

America was positively beaming now.

"Sure thing, bro! Oh, and let's grab some pancakes on the way, the ones you make are simply _divine_!"

Canada laughed as he took America's hand and they traveled through the crowd.

.

The final fireworks rose to the sky and exploded in beautiful bright lights while the orchestra, together with a harmonic choral, played the national hymn. Everywhere there were thousands of red and white flags being held by the people in the seemingly infinite crowd. And in the middle of that crowd a group of young men stood, cheering and smiling. They were all dressed with red and white clothes, but each had a different country painted in their cheeks. A blond man with thick eyebrows proudly displayed the United Kingdom's flag while he sang along to the song while the blond with the American flag was jumping up and down and singing along in a toneless tune. By their side two more men with longer and wavy blond hair stood holding hands. The bearded one had the flag of France in his right cheek and the Canadian flag in his right cheek. Canada still had both cheeks painted and the pink hue only added to the red color of the flag. No one could possibly imagine any of those blonds were actually countries – much less the one with curly hair and violet colored eyes, who went by the human name Matthew Williams with his official name being Canada. He might not have been human, but he certainly felt like one right now. Together with fellow nations he could call family and with his people, Canada felt complete.

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**A/N:** And here is a little of North American Bros interaction for all of you. Side Franada (because I never wrote it) and UsUk if you squint it. I've been meaning to write a story about Canada Day for a year now and I finally did it! And in a couple of days, here comes a one-shot (which may or may not belong to this challenge) for America's 4th of July! Canada Day is a big celebration and it also has rock shows and fireworks for celebration! However, it's worth noticing that the province of Quebec doesn't celebrate it as fervently as the rest of the country, only calling it a "moving day", since this was the day when lease agreements had ended. Hetalia can be quite educational!

See you all in the next challenge,

Fieldings


	2. Nonno

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Nonno

**Prompt 2:** Sibling Characters, family.

**Characters:** Romano (S. Italy) and Veneziano (N. Italy).

**A/N:** Ironically enough, the first chapter also serves as this prompt! This time around I'll feature the Italy Brothers. Knowing me, I'll probably use first all characters I'm more comfortable with and then get stuck later on… oh, well. Also, when I'm using only nations name I prefer to use Veneziano, leaving Feliciano for human/AU stories.

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After Romano checked his watch for the fourth time in the day, he sighed. His brother wasn't known for being punctual, but then again things should be different today of all days. Things were always different in this date. He had been sitting in an old and rusty bench for fifteen minutes now, and if that wasn't annoying enough, the thought of the food in the bag beside him going cold surely did. A red colored leaf fell into the Italian's lap as he frowned at every single person that walked in front of him. Before he could get up and pick a fight with a random Italian citizen, a voice called out for him.

Turning around, he saw his brother running with a grin on his face in his direction. But what really irritated Romano was that he couldn't stay mad at his brother.

Veneziano stopped in front of him as he gasped for air. There was a similar looking bag by his side – probably beverages, since Romano had taken care of the pasta.

"What about Spain?" Veneziano asked as soon as he had enough air in his lungs.

"The bastard isn't coming today." Actually Romano hadn't mentioned the date at all. He felt like this was something intimate, something that only he and Veneziano should share. But then again, his brother was too intimate for his taste with other nations as well, which brought him to his main question…

"So, when is the potato bastard coming?" Romano asked, somewhat irritated. Knowing the German, the worried wart would've been there five minutes before they arrived.

"He isn't coming today." Veneziano answered simply.

Romano almost halted, but he continued walking by his brother side, trying to read Feliciano's calm smile.

Smirking, the older brother asked, "Trouble in paradise?" He instantly regretted asking.

Even if he would never tell, Romano didn't enjoy mocking his brother this way. Sure, he would always complain about the potato freak, but that didn't mean he would willingly make his brother sad. Veneziano would frown – an action very rare for him – and even ignore Romano for a day (at least as long as dinner time, where pasta would be served and everything would be forgotten) whenever he would say such things. Romano hated angering Veneziano; the younger nation was surely an airhead and often times very silly, but he was still his brother. Besides, Veneziano never commented about Romano's liking for Spain – which was something he was still coming in terms with – so it was only fair to avoid mocking him every once in a while.

For his relief, Veneziano only laughed and smiled easily at him.

"Not really. Ludwig even offered to come today, but I refused." Noticing how his older brother's eyes widened significantly, Veneziano smiled and continued, "This is between family".

And Romano understood. This day wasn't important just for him; in fact, it might be even more important to Veneziano, of all people, since he had been the closest one to the Ancient nation. In the past, Romano had envied him for such a close relationship to the one nation they could've called family besides each other. Now, however, he knew what pain that could bring and the pressures his brother must have passed and still passes after all this time. Maybe being the less favored had its perks as well.

As if reading his mind, Veneziano turned to him with a smile once more and held Romano's hand.

"You know that he also loved you very much, right, _fratello_?" He asked with an easy tone, but his eyes betrayed more emotions. Insecurity shone in those chocolate eyes, asking, begging Romano to tell.

The chocolate and emerald pair of eyes locked in quick and tense moment.

"Yes, I know. And I loved him too."

For once, Romano was the one smiling before Veneziano. The younger Italy beamed at his brother's response and leaped into a hug from which Romano wasn't quick enough to evade.

The rest of their walk hadn't been particularly memorable; Romano whistled some Italian songs from their childhood while Veneziano sang along in his bizarrely adorable childish voice, according to Romano. They passed parks and crossed streets in the same fashion. Not even once did they stop in their tracks, not even for food. Veneziano, who was usually the most distracted of the duo, kept going forward in a decided manner. It was nice to see him serious about something for a change – but wouldn't that be hypocrisy since Romano himself was also unusually serious? It was this day's fault, he knew.

With each step the bag seemed to increase in weight and by the end of their walk it was almost tortuous. There was a grand and beautifully sculpted font of a mermaid at the cemetery's entrance and the brothers sit down by its side – not too close so as to avoid getting wet and not too far away. Veneziano was still humming some song as they started taking out all the contents in the bag. Soon enough a picnic camp was set with freshly made pasta in a Tupperware and plastic plates neatly set between them. Smiling for the second time in the day, Romano twirled the noodles skillfully with his right hand before bringing the delicious pasta to his mouth. Veneziano, in front of him, was doing the same with much gusto.

Every once in a while they would stop in their meal to admire the fountain and make some nonsense comment about the weather. They wouldn't mention other nations or meeting affairs – at least not today. Romano was secretly grateful for that and he knew Veneziano understood. By the end of their little picnic they set the remains in the bag and prepared to go back to their home. Both brothers turned around simultaneously when they passed the gate, looking once back at the fountain.

Since there hadn't been a body to burry because nations don't die that way, they had made the spot where their _nonno_ passed away into a beautifully sculpted fountain portraying a beautiful mermaid, just like Roma would have liked. It didn't matter that there was no body or tombstones – that was a human concept, after all – that was their grandfather's grave and it was enough for them.

Every year they'd come back and pay their respects, telling a bit about their lives or complaining about boring meetings and adorably goofy boyfriends – _nonno_ always liked to listen to that sort of thing anyway. But then again, Roma always liked to listen to whatever silly thing they wanted to say, no matter what. And a small part of Romano had always appreciated that. Even if their relationship had been a little difficult, there had always been an unshakable bond between him and Roma and Veneziano; a bond some nations never got the pleasure of having.

Both brothers saluted the fountain like they did every year – Romano gave a simple nod while Veneziano waved his hand with a big smile on his face – and turned to leave. The fountain would be there in the next year and in the following years, just as _nonno_ would always be in their hearts.

* * *

Nonno = grandfather in Italian

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**A/N:** Is it considered a cheat if I involved a third character in this? I have a soft spot for sibling nations, such as the Italy bros and the German bros, as well as Romano's relationship with his grandfather. This was fun to write!

See you in the next challenge,

Fieldings


	3. A Big Happy Family

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title:**A Big Happy Family

**Prompt 3:** "Canon" pairings, hurt/comfort

**Characters:** HRE (Holy Roman Empire/Holy Roma) and Chibitalia (petite Italy)

* * *

Italy bit back another sob that threatened to come out. This really wasn't working out, the petite nation reckoned. Usually, going to an open field and sitting down in the grass and looking at the flowers would take his mind off those thoughts but this time around it seemed it wouldn't work. He had purposefully sneaked out of Lord Austria and Lady Hungary's house to avoid making them worried. He would do his best not to cry in front of others – he would be strong and always with a smile in his face, like his _nonno_ had once said to him. Thinking of his _nonno_ brought the sadness back.

"Why are you crying?" A voice brought him back from his thoughts.

Italy turned around quickly as soon as he heard the voice. Had someone being sneaking up on him? He tried his best to glare at the intruder, but it came out as a surprised, if not _elated,_ expression when he saw who was the nation behind him.

It was Holy Roman Empire.

"I- I didn't mean to pry or anything, I was just worried about… about you." The petite blond nation admitted.

Despite himself, Italy found himself smiling at Holy Roman Empire. The boy could be so sweet sometimes, even if he seemed terrifying at first glance. These were the times Italy appreciated him even more: Holy Roma always tried to make him feel better, even if the blue-eyed nation himself was terribly shy.

"Thank you, Holy Roma. You're very sweet." Italy spoke those words easily at the nation now sitting beside him. His smile furthered when he saw the pink hue in Holy Roma's cheeks.

"It's nothing."

Oh, but it was – that's what Holy Roma didn't know. Having someone that cared and worried about you, someone that loved you was so much more than nothing. The love that Lord Austria and lady Hungary had for him, the love that Holy Roman Empire had for him – even though he wouldn't admit it – and the love of his family were primordial to Italy. It gave him the strength to continue moving forward, trying to be better at everything he could so that he could one day stand in his own feet as his own nation. Just like his _nonno_ once had…

The thought of his late grandfather filled him with sadness once more and Italy sobbed. Holy Roma was by his side in less than a second, frantically asking him what was wrong. The boy could really be sweet, couldn't he?

"It's nothing, Holy-" Another sob.

"Don't give me that, Italy. There is something wrong here and we both know it." Holy Roma replied seriously. Sometimes the boy would assume a military persona and be diligently serious about everything – personally, Italy thought it was adorable.

Sighing, he decided to answer. Holy Roma wouldn't leave him alone until he told him anyway… and it's not like Italy wanted him to leave either.

"Really, Holy Roma, it's nothing… it's just that… sometimes, I miss my family. I miss _nonno_ and I really miss fratello, even if he could be grumpy and rude at times. We'd often fight because of our dissonant values and I always felt like Romano secretly resented me, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about it and now… and now he is gone, living somewhere else and I haven't seen him for decades now! I don't know if _fratello_ still remembers me, or worse… if he even _misses_ me. But I miss him and I also miss _nonno_-" A sob. "I miss them both so, so much!"

Another sob broke out and this time Italy couldn't hold back the tears that rolled down his round cheeks. He never told this to anyone. He didn't want to bother Lord Austria and Lady Hungary, and much less Holy Roma, with such a self-pity speech – no, he had to be strong and always continue smiling, that had been nonno's advice before his passing. But it still hurt to keep those bottled feelings inside. It was bound to happen sometime and he was just glad that Holy Roma was so understandable. Italy found himself divided between the feeling of relief and guilt; he had finally let out those horrible thoughts but he shouldn't have bothered Holy Roma either.

Maybe now the blue-eyed nation would finally get tired of him and go back to avoiding him all the time… A sudden pain jabbed Italy in his chest. He wouldn't be able to have Holy Roma ignore him, not now or ever. The seemingly scary but also kind and precious boy meant too much to Italy.

"I understand." Holy Roma's soft words echoed in the open field as a soft breeze passed between them. "I also miss Lord Germania and even my older brother, as crazy as this may sound." His small smile gave Italy goose bumps (the good kind). "Family is family, after all." The blue-eyed nation looked on the verge of tears, but he was still holding them in.

Italy nodded enthusiastically along with tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He held the slightly bigger pale chubby hand with his own as he smiled to Holy Roma.

"But you're my family too, Holy Roma. You, Lord Austria and Lady Hungary… you're all part of my family! And I know there are a bunch of other nations around and we could all become a big happy family together!"

Holy Roma chuckled lightly and soon enough he was laughing. Thankfully he was already sitting; otherwise he'd have fallen on the soft grass. Italy just looked at the other nation with a bewildered expression. Had he said something wrong? But that was what he truly believed… the world could always become something better, he was sure of that. Somehow, he didn't feel hurt at all that Holy Roma was laughing at what he said; the boy had such a beautiful laugh… he should smile and laugh more often.

"S- Sorry, Italy! It's just that-" He was trying to speak between laughs. Once he calmed down enough, Holy Roma continued, "You're very sweet, did you know that?"

Italy could _feel_ his blush spread across his face. Every once in a while Holy Roma would surprise him with kind words out of nowhere and it made him flattered, if not slightly embarrassed. _He_ was the sweet one, not him, airheaded Italy.

"The whole world as a big happy family…" Holy Roma smiled another one of his beautiful rare smiles. "It will probably be very difficult and it might take centuries to happen but… I also believe in your dream."

Italy beamed back at him. Holy Roma could be so very understanding and kind, much more than even some adult nations he knew. Whenever they were together like this the feeling of loneliness would vanish and all his worries seemed to be a world away.

"But don't go substituting me for some other nation, okay?" Holy Roma asked lovingly as he held Italy's hand.

Italy smiled back at the blue-eyed nation and pecked his cheek.

"Never."

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**A/N:** This is the last time I bring up _nonno_ Roma, I swear! This happens after Roma's death and South Italy's status change to Spain's sovereign state (the Italy brothers already know each other by this time). I adore this sweet pairing and I got the opportunity to write about them. I also have a one-shot that deals with the conflict of Italy with HRE and Germany, called '_Resemblance' (not to confuse with another story of mine called 'Remembrance', which is a FrUk and FrxJeanne one-shot)_. Check it out if it interests you!

See you in the next challenge,  
Fieldings


	4. Júrame

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Júrame (Swear to me)

**Prompt 4:** Songfic.

**Characters:** Spain, Romano.

**A/N:** Not only is this horribly late, it's also my first attempt in this type of story, so I apologize for newbie's mistakes. Julio Iglesias is a very famous Spanish singer who sung in various languages, including English. He is a favorite of mine. For some reason, I always think of Spamano when I hear this song. Only some parts of the song are featured in its original language (Spanish). If you want to see the English lyrics go to this link, taking off the spaces: bit . ly / RGuty3

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya and 'Júrame' belongs to 'Julio Iglesias'.

* * *

Going to a karaoke with nations was never a good idea, Romano thought while fighting a migraine. He still couldn't believe what had happened this time around. It all began when Japan, of all nations, suggested going to a karaoke, only to have Korea and America instantly back his decision. In the end, they had to get a bigger karaoke room since there were fifteen people. Honestly, he couldn't care less about karaokes or whatever it was that people called those machines these days. He was a singer, and a good one at that, and he would sing only when it suited him – which was definitely not this place. However, his annoying little brother was more than eager to go and sing a duet with the potato-freak, which obviously ended with Romano going to keep an eye on them.

After a couple of hours, almost all nations had sung: America had sadly been the one who sung the most and it was always one of his stupid pop songs of the moment, Japan went from one of his famous _enka_ to the newest _j_-_pop_ sensation with Korea going as his back voice. China tried to sing, but his favorite songs weren't in the karaoke and the petite nation threw a tantrum all over the place. Hong Kong staid quiet all the while, but it's not like Romano chatted with him or anything. Prussia (who had invited him anyway?) had sung almost as many times as America – if that could even be called 'singing'. Now Romano finally understood why exactly Austria always refused to come to these _events_… that genius stuck-up bastard.

Some nations had sung pretty well, mind you, but they haven't gone up nearly as often as either America or Prussia. England had been exceptionally good and even Romano had to admit that. France only went to sing as an attempt to pick up other nations, which didn't seem to have worked very well either. His brother coerced the potato-freak to sing, albeit only once, and Romano was grateful that Veneziano sung well enough to cover for Germany's mumblings.

All in all, it was turning out to be a tolerable evening… until Spain decided to sing. It wasn't that Spain didn't sing well – not at all, the bastard was excellent in it. He always sung with such a refined tune and passion… It brought Romano memories of the times when his ex-caretaker would sing to him when he was still a little nation. Romano would never admit it, but he did appreciate Spain's voice and especially his songs. The problem this time around had been something else. As soon as Spain was up, the tanned nation got up with a huge grin and decided to say a few words before the song began.

"This one is a fairly new song, from one of my own: Julio Iglesias!" Spain explained with a smile. Ignoring America's "didn't he mean Enrique Iglesias?" and a shush from England, Spain continued, "This song is called Jurame, or Swear to Me in English."

So far so good. Until, of course, Spain started talking yet again and this time, he was looking at Romano.

"I dedicate this song to you, _mi pequeño tomate_!" Spain said, winking at him.

Romano could feel the blush creep up in his face and the shouts and jests from the other nations weren't helping his situation at all. Before he could've gotten up to punch that bastard in the face, the sung begun and everyone tried to keep quiet.

What do you know, Romano thought, the instrumental part of this song is actually bearable.

Spain breathed deeply before starting to sing in deep, yet soft voice – all the while looking at him. And then Romano was a goner. He hadn't listened to the first part of the song at all; being too preoccupied taking in the beautiful green tone of Spain's eyes; those beautiful eyes that were looking at him, just at him. The bastard always had a way with him - that was for sure. Romano strained his ears so that he could also listen to what Spain was saying. It would probably be an overly romantic song, knowing him.

_Cuando estoy cerca de ti, tú estás contenta.  
No quisiera que de nadie te acordaras.  
Tengo celos hasta del pensamiento  
que pueda recordarte a otra persona más. _

Yep, it sure was. But for Spain's sake, Romano was willing to ignore this song was actually about a girl, rather than a guy – or a nation, really. The song started to pick up in rhythm and Romano found himself more enthralled by the second.

_Júrame  
que aunque pase mucho tiempo  
no has de olvidar el momento  
en que yo te conocí. _

Despite himself, Romano was smiling. The lyrics were indeed beautiful, even if they weren't in his mothertongue. He had grown up hearing Spanish – although at that time it was archaic Spanish – after all, so it was like second nature.

_Mírame,  
pues no hay nada más profundo  
ni más grande en este mundo  
que el cariño que te di. _

As soon as the word _mírame_ was sung, Romano instinctively looked at Spain once more. Those bright emerald eyes of his were still looking at him with warmth that wasn't unfamiliar to the Italian. As cliché as it sounded, Romano knew that there wasn't indeed anything bigger in the world than Spain's love for him.

_Bésame  
con un beso enamorado,  
como nadie me ha besado  
desde el día en que nací. _

Spain was now walking closer to him and he sent kisses to his ex-colony with his free hand. It was a wonder how he hadn't got caught in the microphone's cable with the way he was twirling around. Not only was he singing, Spain was also acting the words he was saying. If it had been for anyone else, Romano would've probably scoffed (while secretly planning revenge to any idiot who might've gotten Spain so sick with affection) and considered this all stupid. While he was still considering this unbearably stupid and embarrassing, he was also too happy to even care.

_Quiéreme,  
quiéreme hasta la locura  
y así sabrás la amargura  
que estoy sufriendo por ti. _

Now Spain was standing up in front of him while Romano was blushing, still sitting down. With another beautiful smile of his, the tanned green-eyed nation bent down to the Italian's eye level and held his hand in a firm, yet warm way. Unable to look back at Spain, Romano was glaring at every other nation around them. It didn't matter if they were sighing, laughing and mocking or simply uninterested – they were in the way, dammit!

Todos dicen que es mentira que te quiero...  
No quisiera que de nadie te acordaras.  
Tengo celos hasta del pensamiento  
que pueda recordarte a otra persona más.

Those last lines caught Romano's attention. In reality, this song was much more appropriate for him, rather than Antonio. It spoke of unveiled jealousy and nervousness while the main theme was still freshly discovered love. The singer was trying to convince the girl of his undying affection and love for her, rather than simply asserting it. It wasn't a lie that Romano loved Spain, no matter what everyone might say. Even if Spain was the one who suggested it and was also currently singing, Romano knew this song wasn't just for him – it was _from_ Romano himself.

Had Spain thought of it? Maybe yes, maybe no, but it didn't matter. Each person would understand whatever they wanted from a song, after all, that was the idea, right?

And for the first time in the whole song, Romano had a smile in his face that managed to compete with Spain's own smile. The Italian stood up, still holding his lover's hands in his own, and breathed in deeply. In the last chorus, both nations sang together in a harmonic duet.

_Júrame  
que aunque pase mucho tiempo  
no has de olvidar el momento  
en que yo te conocí. _

Romano would never forget the moment when he met Spain, nor the moment when he fell in love with him either. That was a given.

Karaoke night still lasted for another couple of hours, but neither Spain or Romano sang again. Rather, they had been too enthralled with each other to notice others were singing. Not even France's jesting or other nation's congratulations could bring Romano a bad mood. They even received footage from Japan, who recorded the whole thing. Spain smiled brightly while Romano just scoffed lightly.

Next time there was karaoke night, Romano would go and he would sing a song for Spain. This time, it would be an Italian one – but that didn't mean it wouldn't be as overly romantic as this one had been. After all, Romano wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

* * *

**A/N:** This is also the last time Romano will appear in these shots (remember, a single character can only appear twice and a pairing, once). More than one chapter will be published daily from now on, guys! That is, until and _if_ I ever manage to keep up with the rhythm.

Fieldings


	5. They Will Get You

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **They Will Get You

**Prompt 5:** Thriller, Allies vs. Axis (doesn't have to be historically based)

**Characters:** France and Germany

**A/N:** My first time writing something of the thriller/suspense genre! This challenge has been quite useful for me in that sense, since I'm really opening my horizons for new and different things.

* * *

_Stand. Stand up now. _

The sounds of shouts and guns firing down the street could be heard through the thick walls of the palace. His people were afraid, so afraid and lost, and there was nothing France could do for them. Not now.

_Stand up._

Fighting down the nausea, he got up. His legs were too weak now, too beaten, but he still managed to stand on them. Those were the legs that ran miles, the legs that fought and kicked thousands and the legs that made thousands of lovers – humans or nations – swoon. His legs, just like his whole body, wouldn't die just as easily as this.

Each step felt like torture – but France knew all too well that wasn't even close to torture, nor it would ever be if Germany's Gestapo ever caught him. His muscles were too strained, his bones too broken and his voice, non-existent. How could he say anything when all of his voice and air were being maculated by the Axis's tropes, coming ever so close-

A shout. He couldn't recognize if this one was close to him or miles away, in the countryside. It didn't matter. It felt like all his people were shouting with pain or whispering in defeat. In the end, it was the same. Those voices said the same thing, over and over again.

_Stand up. Fight._

But how could he when his body was so beaten up, his voice gone and his resolves faltering? No, his resolves wouldn't falter. France knew what he believed and what he stood up for and no human or nation could ever change that.

_Fight_.

With what could he fight? His country and body were in ruins.

_Fight or they will get you._

They would, wouldn't they? It was only a matter of whom. Either his enemies or his own allies would get him. Germany wanted to rule Europe and he was an obstacle. Yes, just an obstacle – that's what he'd become. The German didn't have big plans for him. He'd become a puppet state, a piece of land they could just walk in so they could fight the _real_ enemy: Britain. That bastard had become powerful over the ages and he was now the one standing up in this war. But France knew his long time rival wouldn't be able to contain Germany by himself. Not only he would fall, but also would Britain.

_They will get you._

Shouts echoed once more and now France could recognize them: the high politicians that were two rooms away from the nation. Some had managed to escape before and during the invasion, but those who staid up to this point wouldn't be able to leave – just like him.

_They will get you._

His legs were failing him after seven steps. He couldn't walk anymore. The taste of blood never left his mouth; it kept piling up, just like the dead bodies of his civilians. The smell of dead bodies, garbage that was in his streets disgusted him. The nausea was now suffocating him. He couldn't breathe.

The sound of steps – minimally synchronized steps of an army, of a mindless force – increased in tempo. The palace (or was it just his body?) shook. The smell of blood was everywhere.

The shouts were becoming louder and louder; the angry tears of pain, the cries for revenge and the hatred of the population reminded him of older, but not less chaotic times. The Revolution was long gone and yet France was once more amidst an even bigger conflict – one he might not escape alive.

_They will get you_, the voices kept screaming at him.

And suddenly everything was silent again. The endless shouting and the ever-increasing steps had stopped completely. France didn't understand why until the smell of blood returned, now dangerously close.

He didn't need to look down to see a hole in his abdomen.

And he didn't need to turn around to see a stiff Germany holding the gun that would shoot him through his heart. Yet, he did turn around.

Icy blue eyes met another pair of bright, bloodshot blue eyes. Both pair of eyes depicted intense emotions, ones which humans could never feel or understand because of their short lives. But nations did understand and they would always understand. It irked France to see the pain and denial in Germany's eyes during this moment, but then again, it would be hypocrisy for him to act such way. After all, how many nations he himself had also stared down with the same eyes before shooting them?

"You can still turn this around, _Frankreich_."

_Stand up. Stand up and fight. Stand up and run. Stand up and surrender. Fight. Run. Surrender. Run. Fight. Surrender. _

The voices kept calling him, but it was no use. He had already made his decision and so had Germany.

France smiled, but it was crooked. It had been such a long time he had smiled flirtatiously and charmingly at others. Now his smiles were broken and hurt – just like him.

"_Liberté, égalité, fraternité."_

Even now, those words sounded stronger than ever in his heart.

The voices faded after the gunshot. The taste of blood never left is mouth, but France couldn't care less about it. There was finally silence, pure, golden silence around him. Not even Germany's voice and his troops could enter this silence that overtook him.

Ever since the beginning of this war, France finally felt peace… not with his citizens nor with other nations, but with himself.

There was still so much of him, so much of his love to give to the world… and yet, this is how it would end. They caught him, but he knew they wouldn't be able to obtain and taint all others – there were too many nations in the world, after all.

The darkness engulfed him into a long, dreamless sleep. He wondered if he'd ever return to his former consciousness again.

_They will get you,_

_And you will never be the same again._

On 14 June, Paris fell.

* * *

_Frankreich_ = German for France.

_Liberté, égalité, fraternité – _If you don't know this one, I'm kind of sorry for you. French Revolution, guys.

* * *

**A/N:** These shots will be updated daily, but since I'm behind schedule, there might be more than one chapter a day. Thank you for reading,

Fieldings


	6. Meltdown

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title:** Meltdown

**Prompt 6:** Tragedy, OTP

**Characters:** USUK: America and England.

**A/N:** I'm both excited and anxious about featuring my OTP (USUK) now, still in the sixth day of the challenge. Still, the prompt is great and it's for experience, after all! Remember: pairings can only be used once throughout the challenge. This happens in an alternate!universe Cold War.

* * *

No. It couldn't be.

But it was.

America was dead.

He still couldn't believe it – at all. For England his dear and precious America was still here, alive and breathing and smiling one of his breathtakingly beautiful smiles as usual. The blue-eyed nation would probably be munching a burger or two while babbling some nonsense about super heroes or aliens or any of that fictional subjects. But he wasn't there anymore.

There would be no America from now on. There would be no smiling faces; shining sapphire eyes; dirty and oily mouth and hands; stupid and surprisingly savvy remarks out of nowhere; warm hugs or thoughtful touches… there would be no America from now on to forever. His ex-colony, his rival, his friend, his lover, his _everything_ was gone now, from now on to forever.

And it was all because of this stupid war that had no reason whatsoever either. This conflict started a simple battle of egos and now it culminated in the destruction of half the world and the slavery of the other half. It would be a lie to state that this war broke this world apart. The world had been broken of a very long time. From the beginnings of the First World War… no, even before that, from the end of the Ancient Nations there had already been a crack – and that crack began growing century after century, resulting in this gigantic mess they were all in now.

But England didn't care anymore.

He didn't care about the reasons of this war, nor of what was left of it. He didn't care if every single nation he knew was either dead or permanently changed and he didn't care that he was Russia's next target. Honestly, he couldn't wait for the psychopath nation (he remembered with bitterness the old times when Russia's psychosis was only a matter of jokes – not anymore). There would be no resistance, no fight whatsoever. He would accept each blow and the pain for they would lead him to America once more.

America, his ex-colony that had inflicted so much pain and so much love in him over the centuries. America, who had been the first he had truly cared about in all his painful life as a nation. America, who was so much like him and at the same time was so different from him. America, who had become something completely unlike himself during the development of this war and managed to border the psychosis only known to Russia at that time. America, who England had tried to continue loving with all his efforts, because he knew his sweet golden-haired boy, was still inside the military paranoid nation by his side. And America who in a fit of sanity realized what would happen and shielded England from the explosion.

England ignored the heavy taste of iron in his mouth as he continued to hold tightly the corpse of the larger nation. There was no one else in sight and the sheer silence of the place made him shiver (as if there was no one else alive anymore – which was sadly quite probable). His falling tears hurt almost as much as the burning rain that fell down on both him and America's body.

No. It couldn't be.

But it was.

America was dead.

And soon – but not soon enough in England's opinion – he would join his dead lover.

* * *

**A/N:** The iron taste in the mouth and the burning raindrops are common consequences after an atomic explosion. In this universe, the Cold war evolved much more and it resulted in the death of America (yes, I am aware that scenario is very far fetched, but I'm avoiding writing AUs in this series). I'm not much of a fan of character deaths, even if excellently done, because I always end up rooting for the underdog or get emotionally involved with characters but that's just me. The next challenges are a bit brighter, thankfully!

Fieldings


	7. A Cat's Day

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **A Cat's Day

**Prompt 7:** Crack, Nekotalia

**Characters:** Giripan

* * *

It was quite the day for Greece, the cat. Not only did he receive extra cat food from his human – because he was in no way his _master_, as some dogs would call their humans – but he had also achieved a new record: twelve straight hours of pure, blissful sleep. Sleep was no longer simply an activity for Greece, but rather, it was a life style; one he eagerly adopted. Even so, there were days he could barely sleep, thanks to the horrible neighbor cat, Turkey. The tabby cat always found a way to wake Greece up, and that was indeed quite the challenge.

While Greece, the cat, had considered moving once or twice, his resolve quickly died when he remembered his other neighbor: a cat with black and white fur and mysterious brown eyes. The cat went by the name of both Nihon and Japan and was just as exotic as his name. Japan rarely meowed or went outside his house and was, quite simply, a mystery for Greece. Both him and Turkey tried to get Japan's attention, but it never worked since the cat rarely came out.

His human had thankfully been the solution for the problem, Greece remembered. The Grecian had become friends with the Japanese, the human of Japan, the cat. While it had been hard and Japan's human seemed to hate outsiders and the outdoors in general (just like his cat, Greece would find out later on), his human didn't give up and eventually he became friends with the Japanese human.

In his defense, Greece, the cat, had taken much less time to become friends with Japan. They had instantly kicked off the moment Greece was able to drag the other cat away from his little indoor house (apparently the other cat had even more mysterious items and toys, Greece gathered). Japan was very different from the other cats Greece knew. The brown-eyed cat didn't take much pleasure on going outside the house, albeit he did sometimes, neither did he want to meet others. That went well for Greece, the cat, since they usually met in the middle of the afternoon and just spent time lying around under the warm sunrays.

And today had been an especially good day. Greece, the cat, had slept through his record and woke up happily, noticing that Turkey, the cat, hadn't been around all day either (he was probably out with his human doing Cat God knows what) and Japan was still by his side, blissfully sleeping. But the good - and very new thing – was that both cats had been sleeping very closely together. Greece didn't attempt to move even once, fearing that Japan might wake up. They were practically hugging (as his human would say) in their sleep and Greece could feel Japan's soft fur against his own. There was still an hour till the sunset and Greece planned to enjoy every single second of it.

Eventually Japan, the cat, woke up and after a high-pitched meow – which Greece had listened with much pleasure – and a string of apologies, the cat had calmed down. Blushing in a very cute way (another thing that his human often said about the Japan's owner), Japan decided to go back to his house since he had spent all day outside. Before Greece could complain, Japan moved closer and licked his cheek in a demure manner. Needless to say, Greece had been glued to the spot ever since then (which had been an hour ago).

Today was a good day indeed for Greece, the cat.

* * *

**A/N:** Sadly, I'm not good with portraying animals whatsoever. For the lovers of Giripan and kittens, there will be a future one shot dealing with the nations! The name is 'All Thanks to Kittens'. It will be released in a couple of weeks or so. Now, to the next (belated) challenge,

Fieldings


	8. Alone

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Alone

**Prompt 8:** Historic, Least favorite character

**Characters:** Ukraine

**A/N:** I don't particularly hate or dislike any of the Hetalia characters at all, but I've noticed I never portrayed Ukraine nor have I searched much about her (the country and the character's) history before the 1960's, so here goes a little piece about it. This story isn't very detailed; it narrates Ukraine's industrial changes and her point of view of the decaying Soviet Union.

Also, sorry for the very late updates! I do plan to finish these challenges and I'll do so, even if I take a long time to do it.

* * *

"From now on you'll never be alone, Ukraine. None of us shall ever be alone again."

Ukraine could still remember the smile in her brother's face when he uttered those words not only to her, but also to their younger sister. Even then she still couldn't bring herself to believe completely in that statement. His brother was smiling happily then, but that smile was very different from his usual ones; it seemed forced and afraid of something – what, she didn't know at the time.

Now she knew what had been – still was – his greatest fear: loneliness. But she could only understand now when she and her people were suffering it as well. Ukraine felt their pain and their hunger as if it were her own. Her people were suffering and it broke her heart. Her country was changing and the process was happening frighteningly quickly in her opinion. The creation of new economical centers in certain parts of her country brought drastic consequences in those regions. There, more and more industries were implanted each day. The majority of the rural parts migrated in a frenzy to these regions in an attempt to afford a better life, but it was happening too quickly; there wasn't enough space for so many people in such short time. The pollution of the new industries – beneficial transformations, as her brother called it - damaged her fertile soil and then-transparent waters. Her geography changed so quickly some days she could barely recognize herself anymore – be it in the lands she walked or the figure that faced her in the mirror.

She wasn't the only one who was changing either. The countries that took part in the Soviet Union were passing through similar situations and were becoming more and more different at each meeting. Her siblings were almost unrecognizable now. Her once young, sweet and innocent brother acquired a crooked type of childish happiness that gave her shivers and her younger sister was now bordering obsessiveness towards him. Why and how, Ukraine sincerely could not understand. Russia was no longer the brother she had known and loved; he could just as well be a stranger now.

Ukraine hated attending these meetings. There wasn't a single nation in there she recognized anymore. She would always find different ways to escape that enormous dreary house, citing her lands' numerous problems or the arrival of a new crisis she had to solve as quickly as possible – anything to get away from there.

It wasn't supposed to be like this at all. Their main goal was to bring progress and unity to all the nations that composed the Soviet Union.

Their main goal, as her brother once said, was to bring unity – to never be alone. That had always been his biggest fear after all. And apparently, it was also hers. The thing she dreaded most by living in that horribly uncomfortable big house wasn't the sights and mysterious whispers she would hear at every corner or the dark aura that emanated from not only the place, but also from her brother; no, the thing that she dreaded the most there was one small, almost invisible fact: no matter how many nations lived in that house, she was always alone. There wasn't a sense of camaraderie between them, nor even of joined pain. Even though they all lived in the same house, it was like they weren't even neighbors.

Being in that house brought her pain and not even stepping in her own changed lands could bring it away. The tension, fear and anxiety could never go away as long as this bothersome and unhealthy situation continued. Eying the gray smoke that covered her once bright green fields, Ukraine sighed. She could still remember her brother's words from that day. "Being alone", as he called it, was a nation's second nature. Any nation would always value the safety of their own people first and love them in a way only a nation could and in that sense, they were truly alone. But now, inside their little union, they were more alone than ever.

What her brother had yet to realize was that the feeling of loneliness could only be erased by true camaraderie and friendship, rather than by imposed fear. Ukraine realized it wouldn't take long for it all to end. She also knew that she wouldn't be alone when it all eventually ended, for she had her siblings – even as different as they were now, they were still part of her family – and more importantly, she had her people. Ukraine would never be completely alone.


	9. Good Old Days

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Good Old Days

**Prompt 9:** Old World Characters, Childhood

**Characters:** Chibirisu (young England) and young France, FrUk.

* * *

England was once more in the middle of the woods, crying alone – well, not quite alone since his dear fairies were with him. His magical friends were truly the only thing that kept him going, especially since he was always alone and no other nation – his siblings included – cared much for him. Not even France, who would come every once in a while particularly cared, of that he was sure.

"Ran away from your brother again, non _mon ami_?"

Speaking of the devil.

"I wonder what dear Scotland did to you this time…" France asked with a lecherous grin. Somehow that expression didn't fit the young, still beardless face.

"Shut up, frog." The small blond nation replied, still trying to hold back his tears. He wouldn't cry in front of France, of all nations.

"Frog? Do you mean _grenouille_? I still don't understand why you've started calling me that tasteless nickname, _mon petite Angleterre_." France answered with a frown.

"Don't call me that!" England said turning his face. He hated when France called him that, the way the older nation patronized him and how his cheeks would become instantly red. "And the reason why I call you that, stupid frog, is because you are one. You have a disgusting face and terrible skin and hair. You're a nation everyone wants to get away from!"

England expected a response from France, but seeing as there was none, his curiosity finally won and he turned around. France was still there, but his face was turned to the other side and his shoulders were trembling. Was he crying? England felt guilty and his eyes began watering once more.

"France, France, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that," Actually, he did. But it was more out of a fit of envy than hate but England wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "I was just mad at Scotland and… and the others, because they don't acknowledge me as a nation. I was mad at them and in the end I-" France's shoulders were still trembling and England couldn't turn him around with his small hands and limbs.

"I'm sorry." The green-eyed nation said when he held one of France's shoulders. The older nation's shoulder was broad, so differently from his small and pale own.

France still didn't turn around and the shaking only seemed to increase. By now England was even considering kneeling on the grass to ask for his forgiveness. He certainly hated France's guts and his presence was sometimes unbearable, but France was the closest thing he had to as a friend in the nations group. His other, much more loyal friends were invisible to others aside himself and his brothers so he was thought to be a crazy lonely little nation that wouldn't last long. He didn't like France all that much, but he was still the only nation that spent time with him, even if it was to annoy him. He couldn't lose France.

"France, please-" He was really going to beg now, wasn't he? England took a deep breath and prepared to throw his pride aside when he saw France's expression.

The bastard was laughing! His shoulders were still trembling, but that was only because he was trying to hold his laughter. As soon as England saw his face, France let it all out and almost fell to the ground. The older nation continued to laugh wildly while England just stared at him with, flabbergasted.

"Ah, Angleterre," France said between gasps, trying to take a few gulps of air while he was still laughing. "You should've seen the look on your face!" Another gasp. "It was – the – most hilarious thing I've seen yet! Oh, you were so shocked and afraid… So cute, _mon ami_, so cute!"

That brought England back from his stupor. Flushing and very much angry, the petite nation proceeded to yell a string of curses while beating the older nation. He could care less if he France was bigger than him – England may still be small and harmless, but if it were up to him, things would change someday.

Someday he would be big enough to not only challenge France and win – finally wiping that smirk off his face – but he would also earn the respect he craved so much. Someday he would stand tall as his own nation and everyone would respect him, be it his brothers of France. That day could still be far away, but the petite nation knew one day it would come. He had the help of his fairy friends after all. There was nothing to fear.

* * *

Mon ami = my friend

* * *

**A/N:** How could I possibly pass an opportunity to depict Chibirisu? Interestingly enough, I never written about him yet, so this was fun (and yes, I ship FrUk in older times). I love their love/hate relationship; it's fun to write about it! There is a past oneshot I wrote last year called 'Remembrance', where they are featured in modern days and there's also mentioned FrxJeanne for whoever is interested. This is the last time that both England and France will star a challenge shot.


	10. Superheroes

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Superheroes

**Prompt 10:** Comedy, Younger Siblings

**Characters:** Canada centered (this is also the last time he will appear)

* * *

**A/N:** I've seen some different takes in the sibling relationship with America and Canada; in some Canada is older and in others, he is younger. In this story he will be younger. Set before Day One, Canada Day, but you don't need to read that shot to understand this one. In fact, you could read that one after this, since this can count as a prequel. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya and the superheroes mentioned belong to Marvel, I own nothing.

Canada huffed tiredly as he sat down on the couch. Despite being a nation, he was completely drained of energy and there wasn't even a war going on – he just really didn't feel like getting up at all. The world could've ended and he still wouldn't have been persuaded to move; in fact, the world _should_ have ended much earlier so that he could've been freed from his misery. But of course no such thing would ever happen, since Lady Destiny seemed to hate him at times. Especially when you had America, the world's hyper and self-proclaimed "hero", as an older brother.

His day had begun in a very normal, Canadian way. He wad woken up at eight am and proceeded to go eat some pancakes with extra syrup in one of his favorite restaurants. On the way back Canada saw some preparations for Canada Day in the streets. He smiled absentmindedly as he watched his people work joyfully, with patriotism irradiating from them. In these little moments, Canada didn't care if the whole world forgot about him. At least he had his fellow countrymen and that was enough.

Or rather, it had been enough before his cell phone rang and everything went to hell. Of course, at that time Canada didn't know what would be the consequences of taking the call.

"Yes?"

"Hey, lil' bro! How've you been? Wait, don't need to answer that, I know: you've been super excited about my birthday and you're wondering when your invitation is going to come, right? Aaw, I know you always love my birthday but dude, it's still June 24!" Canada was really wondering why he hadn't shut his phone down yet. "But don't need to worry lil' bro, because the hero is right here!"

And to Canada's horror, he really was there. Turning around, the violet-eyed nation watched someone with a strikingly similar appearance laugh in a very loud and obnoxious way.

"A-America?" Canada asked, still disbelieving that his brother was here, in _his_ country, but not to congratulate him early at all.

"That's right." The blue-eyed nation smiled proudly. "I'm here to give you the second invitation to my birthday, the most important day of the year!"

"Second?"

At that, America smiled sheepishly. "Well, you see, England was kind of mad at me, so I had to give him the first invitation, even if he did tear it down… But don't worry, I'm sure he'll come around!"

To be honest, Canada wasn't worried at all. His brother's drama with England had lasted long enough but those fools were still at it. Even France couldn't take the sexual tension between them anymore and that was saying a lot.

"I see. Now that you've given me the invitation," Canada spoke quickly while taking the fancy colorful paper from his brother's hand, "You should probably go visit others to give them on time, right?" Despite himself, he smiled a little to America.

It's not like he didn't like to spend time with his brother. Canada appreciated when America remembered him in the first place and they did have common subjects to share so it was never boring with him (but really, how could anything be boring with America, of all nations? The blond would even create conflicts to keep himself from being bored) but the truth was that Canada couldn't take it during this time of the year. His brother would act as if he was on a sugar rush, babbling all the while about his own birthday and not caring about other nations' own affairs. Canada knew that being independent was a big deal for America – and wasn't it for all of them, in a way? – But enough was enough. He would stand his ground and have his opinion heard or his name wasn't-

"Canada? Lil' bro, everything okay? I just said I'd spend the whole day with you and you went all silent and weird. Maybe all the syrup finally went to your brain or somethin'."

"W- What?" Canada asked, disbelieving of this whole situation.

"Yep, the syrup has certainly done some damage. Dude, I told you all those pancakes wouldn't do you good and now, look at you!" America was practically shouting in the middle of the street now, but he didn't seem to notice nor care. "But don't worry, lil' bro! I have some of the best doctors in my place, I'm sure we can-"

"America-"

"And sure, you may have a better medical system and all, but don't forget I'm _America_, the freedom nation, so-"

"America-"

"And living with France has obviously affected your brain ever since you were a kid too, so that's a problem. Thank God you didn't turn out to be a pervert like him! Though England is also a big perverted old man, but I didn't turn out to be one either, so it's okay. I mean, how could I, America, be something like that-"

"Shut up!"

America instantly stopped speaking as he looked at Canada in bewilderment.

"Mattie… Did you just ask me to-"

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut _up_! My got, America, can't you keep that damn thing of your shut for even a minute?"

"Hey, you're sounding a lot like England-"

"Shut up!" Now Canada was also shouting and he didn't care one bit. Damn politeness if his own brother wouldn't respect him. "Look America, I'm grateful to receive your invitation, I really am, but you have to call before doing things like that! What if I was in a meeting or something?"

"But I _did_ call you-"

"In what, five minutes before showing up here? What if I was busy or couldn't answer you, what would you do then? And don't even begin to say you'd find something to do because you're awesome, because you wouldn't. Everyone is busy now setting up for a very big and important national event here and let me guess, you don't even know what it is, do you?"

At his brother's shy nod, Canada continued shouting, "It's my birthday, America! Yes, you're not the only nation in the world who has a birthday. I also have one! But did I start going own about parties months before it or just randomly show up at every country's place to give them an invitation with…" He quickly checked the theme of the party and scoffed. "…With a _super heroes theme_? Oh, give me a break…"

"Hey, super heroes are cool! You've watched my recent movies and you know that they were awesome!"

"Don't get me started on those. You and I both know one of your all-time favorites isn't even American." Canada smirked a little.

America's stare only served to ire him even more, though. "Uuh… you mean, like, Miracleman or something like that? Because he was never big with me or anything…"

"Argh, no, no! Let me give you a few examples, shall I? Captain Canuck, ring any bells?" America gave no reaction whatsoever. "Fine, Talisman or even Nelvana of the Northen Lights, two super heroines?" Noticing that America didn't seem to know any of them, Canada's resolve was slightly crumbling. He'd have to use the best examples now. "What about Northstar?"

"Ooh, I know who he is!" America was jumping with excitement now. Canada was almost smiling when- "He's a gay superhero!"

"So?" Canada asked, dumbfounded. That couldn't be all America knew about him. "What else do you know?"

"Huh?"

Knowing America, that would be the all he would remember, of course…

"Northstar was created by Jean-Paul. He had super-human speed, flight and energy manipulation powers. He and his sister went by the name of Northstar and Aurora and even became members of the Canadian government sponsored superhero team Alpha Flight. And he worked with the X-man, with brings me to the main example." Canada allowed himself a smirk now. "Maybe you'd know a superhero from their team…"

"Wait, what?" America probably knew which hero he was talking about by now, but the denial was still evident.

"That's right, I'm talking about Wolverine!" Canada smiled triumphantly. "Just one of, if not the most famous X-Men around. Oh you know, the badass, ass-kicking, anti-hero Wolverine? Ca-na-di-an. Yep, you heard it right." He didn't even care if he was sounding like America now. His brother would eventually need to learn how annoying he could be. And it was nice to be remembered as a nation, even if it was because of a fictional character – a badass fictional character, might he add.

"Y- You're lying, Mat! Wolverine can't be a C- Canadian, of all things! He just can't!" America was now practically crying on the sidewalk in another one of his self-dramas.

"He is, though." Canada rolled his eyes. Leave it to his brother to make everything become dramatic. "You should do some research later… say, today?"

With that, America was standing up with new determination and a somewhat serious face.

"You're absolutely right, lil' bro! The hero must find out if this is true! Sorry I couldn't spend the day with you, Matt, I'll make up for it!" America quickly turned around and started running down the street. And with that, the obnoxious nation was gone.

Canada continued to stand there as he sighed in relief. Now he had the day to himself, which was excellent since there were many things to take care of, especially Canada Day.

But only now, when he was on his couch by the end of the day, completely tired of the endless meetings with his politics and preparations, he realized he hadn't given America his invitation. Sighing, he wondered if that would change things – his brother always forgot to come anyway.

His cellphone rang and buzzed against him and Canada checked it: a new message. It was from America, written: "dude he really is Canadian! wooow okay, matt, I have a new respect for you :D:D"

Canada smiled as he replied with a short cynical message. America could be an idiot sometimes, but he was still his older brother.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I admit it: I'm a bit of a comic book nerd. I've read them since I was a little kid and the current Marvel movies have been great in my opinion. So I just had to mix it up with Hetalia and, of course, add America and Canada somewhere. I didn't know about Nelvana or Talisman, however, but the fact that Wolverine is Canadian was always quite epic to me. From now on, Canada won't appear in the challenge anymore due to the rule of only featuring a character twice.

See you in the next challenge,

Fieldings


	11. Presents

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Presents

**Prompt 11:** Romance, Least favorite pairing (changing it to _least portrayed_ pairing).

**Characters:** RusAme

**A/N:** To be honest, I don't hate any pairings in Hetalia at all and I don't bash any either. It was pretty hard picking one for this particular prompt and in the end I just went with RusAme. I've already attempted writing for this pairing, so this wasn't particularly challenging. Hetalia is just curious in that way, it is very easy to find new pairings everyday, with or without history bases. So here goes a fluffy RusAme oneshot!

* * *

Russia had a history of receiving the most unusual objects upon his return to the meetings room. Once there had been a mysterious chair in the place of his usual one. But before he started to find objects in his spot, before some of his items – namely his papers and pens – would mysteriously disappear only to reappear at the end of the meeting just as mysteriously. In the beginning Russia had been quite curious about the cause of these little incidents. He'd even tried to stay during the lunch hours to see who was the culprit but he never found out. Apparently the nation – because it could only be a nation since this happened in World Meetings – was quite sneaky. Well, as long as it wasn't Belarus there wasn't really a reason to worry. And with that, Russia lost interest altogether in the little mystery.

It was only when items started appearing in his spot, rather than disappearing, that Russia became once again interested in this little development. After the lunch hours there would always be something new: it started with small, easy to dismiss things, like pencils and erasers (both would be awfully colorful for his taste, though) and it grew into curious objects, like a box of chocolates with flowers and a big teddy-bear. The suspicion that Belarus could be the nation behind those appearances crept upon Russia and once more he was not only interested, but also quite terrified.

The one time Russia had managed to take a glance at the mysterious nation didn't erase his doubts at all. After another set of failed attempts trying to discover the identity of the nation failed as he stalked the meeting room for days on end, he'd decided to give up on losing his lunch for the small mystery. And ironically enough, the one day he'd been returning a little early after grabbing a hamburger nearby – they were in America after all, and the tall man didn't have any qualms with the meal, he'd managed to almost catch the culprit. However, the nation had been too quick and in his hurry, Russia managed to drop the entire hamburger on the floor. He didn't mourn the loss for long, though. From what he'd seen, the nation was definitely male and of strong build. His mind was screaming at him for the possibility of it being the one nation he'd never expected to receive such presents from and whom he knew would never give to him: America himself.

Their relationship changed immensely in the last decades and for the better: the threat of the Cold War seemed like a thing of the past and now they were even capable of staying in the same room without breaking anything while chatting amiably (and without lies, for once). But there was still a long road to go; the uneasiness in the air never broke between both nations, even with Russia's efforts. His desire to have friends never wavered over the centuries and his current target – friend target, of course – was the one nation who seemed to detest him: America. Yet, as Russia saw the running silhouette of an unmistakably blond man (but no brown coat), he truly wondered about America's feelings for him.

Lunchtime was over in a couple of minutes and Russia decided to sit through the meeting and wait for a chance to speak to America. The host nation, however, never once looked at Russia nor did he stay in the meeting room either; as soon as the bell rung, America had been the first to leave, yelling something about 'hero duties'. Needless to say, Russia had been displeased. Despite his best attempts at trying to find the younger nation – namely commanding the Baltics or interrogating the remaining nations – he wasn't able to find America. The next day, Russia vowed to himself, he would thoroughly interrogate America and he _would_ get answers.

With his goal in mind, Russia woke up much earlier than usual just to have a better chance to catch both the culprit for the mysterious items _and_ America (presuming both weren't the same, of course, but history taught Russia to never expect the best). When he arrived at the meeting place – still two full hours before the meeting, he nodded happily to himself – there seemed to be no other nations around. Perfect. Russia walked to the meeting room intent on staying there for hours if needed just to catch the culprit. However, what he found there made him stop in his tracks.

Instead of the usual random item in his spot, the whole table was covered with the most diverse items: flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals and _vodka, _of all things – he was liking this more and more. At the head of the table, there was a card in America's seat. Russia lost no time in taking it. To his surprise, it was written in his native tongue.

"Надеюсь, вам понравились подарки.

Я люблю тебя."

"Hope you liked it." An easily recognizable voice called him from the back of the room. "I'm not sure if I wrote it right, though. Your language is pretty tricky, y'know." America was standing there, beaming with a flattering blush.

With a smile just as big on his own face, Russia unceremoniously let go of the card to go give a strong hug – followed by many kisses, of course – to America.

* * *

_Надеюсь, вам понравились подарки._

_Я люблю тебя._

_Hope you liked the presents._

_I love you._

* * *

**A/N:** Courtesy of Google Translator. I don't know Russian at all, so please correct me if I'm wrong. RusAme, regardless of historical evidence, is quite cute. Thank you for reading,

Fieldings


	12. Imaginary Friends

**Hetalia 30 Days Challenge**

**Title: **Imaginary Friends

**Prompt 12:** Fantasy: Two Characters, One with Magical Properties, One without

**Characters:** Norway and Denmark [DenNor]

* * *

Denmark, Norway stated in his mind for the fiftieth time for the day, is a fool. The Nordic nation was always ready to jump into thoughtless acts without even considering the repercussions it could have – such as when he went drinking with Prussia and England – and thinking of himself as always right.

The worst problem about Denmark was something else, however: his fellow Scandinavian nation didn't have the Sight like Norway did. In fact, few nations possessed the Sight; he could remember only England – with that adorable Flying Mint Bunny who Norway wanted very much to pet – and, to a certain extent, Romenia with his weird vampirism traditions. The problem wasn't that Denmark couldn't 'see' as Norway did; Iceland couldn't either and they went along just fine. The problem was that because Denmark wasn't able to 'see' Norway's mythological creatures, deemed it as an illusion. A playtime.

Or, in other words, thought Norway was a lunatic.

And if there was one thing that Norway hated more than being ridiculed, it was being ridiculed by _Denmark_, of all nations. The axe-crazy fool had the attention spam of a goldfish whenever he was out of the battlefield and his boastful comments annoyed Norway to no end. Still, Norway still preferred hearing those egocentric comments than being patronized by Denmark as if he was a child.

Such as now.

There was only so much Norway could stand in a day; specifically, two hours and thirty-seven minutes seemed to be his limit when Denmark was being particularly difficult.

"Sure, Nor, there's definitely a _troll_ standing behind me. And he is obviously huge, with big bad eyes and green skin." Denmark affirmed sarcastically after hearing yet another one of Norway's cute, but still weird, description of his 'magical friends'. "Oh, and what was is that you said last time? The troll is a _pacifist_? From what I know of _our_ mythology, Nor," Denmark made sure to put emphasis on the fact they, together with the other Scandinavian countries, shared a mythology, "That isn't true at all. Trolls are huge, sure, but they're also stupid."

Denmark's remark made Norway and the troll – still calmly standing behind the taller blond – frown simultaneously. The nation inclined nation noticed the troll had been hurt by Denmark's words. Still, the troll wouldn't attack as long as Norway said so. And as much as Denmark irritated him, there was no way Norway would endanger his long time ally with an invisible creature.

"And they're definitely not _pacific_." Denmark was _still_ talking, Norway noticed with a frown. "They attack and sometimes trick humans (the smart ones, that is) and they're violent mythological creatures. As in, mythological." The taller blond added as if the word was unknown to Norway.

"I realize they are mythological, thank you very much. But they _do_ exist, too. Not many, like in the old times, but there are still magical creatures over my – our – lands and also in other countries too. Like in-"

"England?" Denmark asked in a bored tone. They'd have this discussion many times before. "As much as England is my friend and can kick ass at times, besides being a bad drunk, he _is_ kind of crazy, I'll admit. Come on, sometimes he completely tunes out during the meeting and starts _petting_ _something_ out of thin air!"

"What he was petting, _Denmark_," Norway made sure to use the full name rather than a nickname to show his exasperation. "Was a small, fluffy green creature called 'Flying Mint Bunny' and-"

"Oh, not you too! Look, I've talked with America and he agrees there's nothing there!"

Norway rolled his eyes.

"America isn't exactly the most 'magically-inclined' nation out there. And neither are you, by the way." He said matter-of-factly.

Of course Denmark skipped through it entirely as he continued his rant.

"And we should discourage and show England that he has a problem, but we are there for him! Maybe then, when he knows he isn't alone in the world, he'll finally forget about his imaginary friends-"

"His _what_?" Norway was fuming now.

Not a good sign.

"Uhm… magical friends?" Denmark attempted with a weak smile.

"Did you just say what I think you did?" Norway's tone was acid and deadly low.

"Uhh…"

"I thought you had agreed that my friends – which, by the way, are much better than you – are not, in any way or form, _imaginary_."

"Okay, not _imaginary_ – just _magical_." Denmark once more repeated the phrase Norway tortured him with long hours by rereading that same phrase until Denmark finally decorated it.

Norway was obviously not happy with Denmark's less than vigorous answer. 'I guess I should really take some acting classes like Finland told me to' Denmark thought 'Or maybe just be quiet during these times like Sweden told me to… But of course I wouldn't hear _Sweden'_.

Nevertheless, Denmark and decided to drop the fight. He hated seeing Norway angry or sad and in the moment he was both. Worse, the cause was Denmark himself so he couldn't just grab his good old axe and plum it into oblivion in the idiotic nation who dared to sadden Norway.

Denmark sighed. Sometimes it was good – also not _lethal_ – to just lose the discussion once in a while.

"You're right, Nor. I'm sorry."

Norway instantly stopped his ramble over magic, traditional and idiotic fools as soon as he heard those words. Had he heard right? Was Denmark, king of righteousness – or so he liked to think of himself – apologizing?

One look at the taller nation's face was enough of an answer. Denmark's features seemed to change considerably when he was serious: there was no creases from over-the-top smiles, no funny caricature-like expressions or anything of the like. Suddenly, Denmark seemed _old_; respectable, perhaps, but old. And that just didn't feel Denmark.

It was obvious Denmark didn't believe completely in what he was saying but there was a twinge of sadness in his voice and that satisfied Norway – for now.

After closing his –still– gaping mouth, Norway went back to his usual aloof expression… not without embarrassedly noticing his cheeks were slightly pink. Because of fighting, that is – obviously not because Denmark actually apologized for once.

Perhaps the world would end today, Norway wondered with a little smirk.

Denmark noticed the small facial change and promptly teased Norway. The oblivious fool was surprisingly observant when it came to Norway – not that he complained, of course.

"So, are you ever going to introduce me to your im- magical friends?" Norway gracefully ignored the little slip. "Such the _fossegrimen_?" Denmark asked with a smile. At least he still remembered the creatures when he heard the oral tales long ago.

"I may introduce you to the _nøkken _and that's if I'm in a good mood. If not, there are always the _trolls_ and _t__rollkjerringer_… or the hylda. Yes, definitely the hylda."

"Nah, you'd never do that to me, Nor."

Denmark smirked at him in the way only he knew how to make Norway's heart skip a beat. His cheeks were colored once more and despite his best attempts to will it down, they staid the same for good long moments. As he and Denmark continued their little chat towards various subjects, Norway waved the troll away – a gesture that wasn't lost to Denmark. Still, the taller nation just shrugged and continued mercilessly teasing the 'magic' nation over and over again.

Despite everything, Denmark did believe in magic or at least, Norway's magic. The technique had been useful in many combats during their Viking era and while he couldn't see a thing, he completely believed Norway. But he wouldn't tell him that.

After all, a blushing and cute Norway was still too good to pass. As long as Denmark wasn't handed to the trolls, that is.

* * *

Excerpts from Wikipedia article of Scandinavian Folklore:

_T__rollkjerringer _is a female troll

_hylda_ is a dangerous Seductress who lives in the forest. The Huldra lures men into the forest in order to secure her freedom or sometimes to suck the life out of a man.

_fossegrimen_ is a magnificent musician who plays the fiddle day and night. He never leaves his waterfall, but it is generally believed that the _Fossegrimen_ is young and handsome.

_nøkken_ is a fresh water dwelling relative of the_Fossegrimen_, but unlike his kinsman, the _nøkken_ is both dangerous and clever.

* * *

**A/N:** It has been such a long time after my last update to these shots... I truly apologize for this as well. Despite being a '30 Days Challenge', this will be obviously taken longer than just thirty days, but I'll still keep writing, albeit in a slower rhythm.

Despite my hectic update schedule, I do plan on completing this since this is a great practice for writing different characters and themes. The next updates will be very in between as this challenge isn't a priority (I still have many multi chaptered stories to finish, too...) but it will be completed nonetheless!

Thank you for reading,

Fieldings


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